Читать книгу Soldier of Fortune - Diana Palmer - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Gabby had seen J.D. in a lot of different moods, but none of them could hold a candle to the one he was in now. He sat beside her as stiff as a board on the plane, barely aware of the cup of black coffee he held precariously in one big hand.

Worst of all was the fact that she couldn’t think of anything to say. J.D. wasn’t the kind of man you offered sympathy to. But it was hard just to sit and watch him brood without talking at all. She’d rarely heard him speak of his sister, Martina, but the tenderness with which he described her had said enough. If he loved any human being on earth, it was Martina.

“Boss…” she began uneasily.

He blinked, glancing toward her. “Well?”

She avoided that level gaze. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Her long, slender fingers fidgeted with the skirt of the white suit she was wearing. “I know how hard it must be for you. There’s just not a lot that people can do in these kinds of situations.”

A peculiar smile touched his hard features for a moment. He swallowed a sip of coffee. “Think not?” he asked dryly.

“You aren’t serious about not contacting the authorities?” she persisted. “After all, they’ve got special teams for these sorts of things….”

He glanced down at her. The look stopped her in midsentence. “Those special teams, Darwin, they are not infallible. I can’t take risks with Martina’s life.”

“No,” she said. She stared at his hands. They were so gracefully masculine, the fingers long and tapered and as dark olive as his face, with flat nails and a sprinkling of hair, like that curling around the watch on his wrist. He had powerful hands.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” he asked.

She glanced up. “Well, sort of,” she confessed. “I don’t really know where we’re going, do I?”

“You should be used to that by now,” he reminded her dryly.

She laughed. “I suppose so. We’ve had some adventures in the past two years.”

He lifted the coffee cup to his lips, staring at her narrowly over the rim. “Why aren’t you married?” he asked suddenly.

The question startled her. She searched for the right words. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I suppose I just haven’t bothered to get involved with anyone. Until almost four years ago, I was living in a small town in Texas. Then I came up here to work for a cousin, he died, you needed an assistant…” She laughed softly. “With all due respect, Mr. Brettman, you’re kind of a never-ending job, if you know what I mean. It just isn’t a nine-to-five thing.”

“About which,” he observed, “you’ve never once complained.”

“Who could complain?” she burst out. “I’ve been around the country and halfway across the world, I get to meet gangsters, I’ve been shot at…!”

He chuckled softly. “That’s some job description.”

“The other assistants in the building are green, simply green, with envy,” she replied smugly.

“You aren’t an assitant. You’re a paralegal. In fact,” he added after another swallow of coffee, “I’ve thought about sending you to law school. You’ve got a lot of potential.”

“Not me,” she said. “I could never get up in front of a courtroom full of people and grill witnesses like you do. Or manage such oration in a summing up.”

“You could still practice law,” he reminded her. “Corporate law, if you like. Or deal in estates and partnerships. Divorces. Land transfers. There are many areas of law that don’t require oratory.”

“I’m not sure enough that it’s what I want to do with the rest of my life,” she said.

He lifted his chin. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

He shook his head, studying the chignon, the glasses she used for close reading and now had perched on top of her head, the stylish white linen suit she was wearing, the length of her slender legs. “You don’t look it.”

“In about twenty years could you repeat that?” she asked. “By then I’ll probably appreciate it.”

“What do you want to be?” he asked, persisting as he leaned back in the seat. His vested gray silk suit emphasized the sheer size of him. He was so close she could even feel the warmth of his body, and she found it oddly disturbing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured, glancing out the window at the clouds. “A secret agent, maybe. A daring industrial spy. A flagpole sitter.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Of course, those jobs would seem very dull after working for you, boss. And do I ever get to know where we’re going?”

“To Italy, of course,” he replied.

“Yes, sir, I know that. Where in Italy?”

“Aren’t you curious, though?” he mused, lifting one shaggy eyebrow. “We’re going to Rome. To rescue my sister.”

“Yes, sir, of course we are,” she said. It was better to agree with maniacs, she told herself. He’d finally snapped. It was even predictable, considering the way he’d been pushing himself.

“Humoring me, Miss Darwin?” he asked. He leaned deliberately past her to place the now-empty coffee cup on the tray table that was open in front of her. His face was so close that she could smell the spicy cologne he wore, feel the warm, smoky scent of his breath. As his fingers left the cup, he turned his head.

That look caused her the wildest shock she’d ever felt. It was like an earth tremor that worked its way from her eyes to the tips of her toes and made them want to curl up. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable she was with him until her heart started racing and her breath strangled in her throat.

“I hesitated about taking you with me,” he said quietly. “I’d rather have left you behind. But there was no one else I could trust, and this is a very delicate situation.”

She tried to act normally. “You do realize that what you’re thinking about could get her killed?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “But not to act could get her killed quicker. You know what usually happens in these cases, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she admitted. Her gaze moved down to his broad mouth with its lips that seemed sculpted from stone and back up again to his dark eyes. He looked different so close up.

“I’m doing what I think is best,” he said. His fingers nudged a wisp of hair back into place at her neck, and she felt trembly all over from the touch. “We’re not sure that the kidnappers still have Martina in Italy. Roberto thinks he knows one of them—the son of an acquaintance, who also happens to own land in Central America. I don’t have to tell you what a hell of a mess this could turn into if they take Martina there, do I?”

She felt weak all over. “But how are they dealing with Roberto?”

“One of the group, and there is a group, is still in Italy, to arrange the handling of the money,” he answered. He let his eyes fall to the jacket of her suit, and he studied it absently with disturbing concentration. “We may do some traveling before this is all over.”

“But first we’re going to Italy,” she murmured dazedly.

“Yes. To meet some old friends of mine,” he said, his chiseled mouth smiling faintly. “They owe me a favor from years past. I’m calling in the debt.”

“We’re taking a team?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up. It was getting more exciting by the minute.

“My, how your eyes light up when you speak of working with a team, Miss Darwin,” he mused.

“It’s so gung ho,” she replied self-consciously. “Kind of like that program I watch on TV every week, about the group that goes around the world fighting evil?”

“The Soldiers of Fortune?” he asked.

“The very one.” She grinned. “I never miss a single episode.”

“In real life, Miss Darwin,” he reminded her, “it’s a brutal, dangerous occupation. And most mercenaries don’t make it to any ripe old age. They either get killed or wind up in some foreign prison. Their lives are overromanticized.”

She glowered at him. “And what would you know about it, Mr. Criminal Attorney?” she challenged.

“Oh, I have a friend who used to sell his services abroad,” he replied as he sat back in his seat. “He could tell you some hair-raising stories about life on the run.”

“You know a real ex-merc?” she asked, eyes widening. She sat straight up in her seat. “Would he talk to me?”

He shook his head. “Darwin.” He sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“It’s your fault. You corrupted me. I used to lead a dull life and never even knew it. Would he?”

“I suppose he would.” His dark eyes wandered slowly over her. “You might not like what you found out.”

“I’ll take my chances, thanks. He, uh, wouldn’t be one of the old friends you’re meeting in Rome?” she asked.

“That would be telling. Fasten your seat belt, Darwin, we’re approaching the airport now,” he said as the flight attendant collected his cup and put the tray table up before moving on.

Her eyes lingered on his dark, unfathomable face as she complied with J.D.’s curt order to put her seat belt on. “Mr. Brettman, why did you bring me along?” she asked softly.

“You’re my cover, honey,” he said, and smiled sideways at her. “We’re lovers off on a holiday.”

“The way I look?” she chided.

He reached over and took the pins out of her coiffure, loosening her hair. His fingers lifted the glasses from their perch atop her head, folded them, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over again and flicked open the buttons of her blouse all the way down to the cleft between her high breasts.

“Mr. Brettman!” she burst out, pushing at his fingers.

“Stop blushing, call me Jacob, and don’t start fighting me in public,” he said gruffly. “If you can remember all that, we’ll do fine.”

“Jacob?” she asked, her fingers abandoning their futile efforts to rebutton her buttons.

“Jacob. Or Dane, my middle name. Whichever you prefer, Gabby.”

He made her name sound like bowers of pink roses in bud, like the softness of a spring rain on grass. She stared up at him.

“Jacob, then,” she murmured.

He nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’ll take care of you, Gabby,” he said. “I won’t let you get in the line of fire.”

“You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’re going to try to rescue Martina.”

“Of course,” he replied calmly. “She and I, we had a tough time as kids. Our father drowned in a bathtub, dead drunk, when we were toddlers. Mama scrubbed floors to keep us in school. As soon as we were old enough, we went to work, to help. But I was barely fifteen when Mama died of a heart attack. I’ve taken care of Martina ever since, just the way I promised I would. I can’t let strangers try to help her. I have to.”

“Forgive me,” she said gently, “but you’re an attorney, not a policeman. What can you do?”

“Wait and see,” he told her. His eyes surveyed her quietly, approving her elfin beauty. “I’m not in my dotage yet.”

“Yes, sir, I know that,” she murmured.

“Jacob,” he repeated.

She sighed, searching his dark eyes. “Jacob,” she agreed.

That seemed to satisfy him. He glanced past her as the plane started down, and he smiled. “The Eternal City, Gabby,” he murmured. “Rome.”

She followed his gaze and felt her heart lift as the ancient city came into view below. Already, she was leaping ahead to the time when she could actually see the Colosseum and the Forum and the Pantheon. But as she remembered the reason for their being in Rome, her enthusiasm faded. Of course there wouldn’t be time for sightseeing, she reasoned. J.D. was going to be too busy trying to get himself killed.

The drive into Rome was fascinating. They went in on the Viale Trastevere, through the old part of the city, across the wide Tiber on an ancient bridge. The seven hills of Rome were hardly noticeable because of centuries of erosion and new construction, but Gabby was too busy gaping at the ruins they passed to notice or care.

They went right by the Colosseum, and her eyes lingered on it as they proceeded to their hotel.

“We’ll find a few minutes to see it,” J.D. said quietly, as if he knew how much it meant to her.

Her gaze brushed his hard face and impulsively she touched her fingers to the back of his hand. “It really isn’t that kind of a trip,” she said softly.

He searched her worried face. His big hand turned, grasping hers warmly in its callused strength. “We’ll have to pretend that it is, for a day or so at least,” he said.

“What are we going to do?” she asked nervously.

He drew in a slow breath and leaned back against the seat, handsome and rugged-looking in his vested suit. It strained against massive muscles, and she tingled at the sight. J.D. had always affected her powerfully in a purely physical way. It pleased her eyes to look at him.

“I’m working on that. But one thing we’ll be doing in the hotel,” he added slowly, “is sharing a suite. Will that frighten you?”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of anything when I’m with you, Jacob,” she replied, finding that his given name was more comfortable to her tongue than she’d expected.

He cocked a heavy eyebrow. “That wasn’t the kind of fear I meant, actually,” he murmured. “Will you be afraid of me?”

“Why would I be?” she asked, puzzled.

He blew out a harsh breath and looked out the window. “I can’t think of a single damned reason,” he growled. “I hope Dutch got my message. He’s supposed to call me later at the hotel.”

“Dutch?” she queried softly.

“A man I know. He’s my go-between with Roberto,” he replied.

“Roberto and Martina don’t live in Rome, do they?” she asked.

He shook his head. “In Palermo. So, for all appearances, we’ll be a couple on holiday, and there won’t be anything to connect us with the kidnapping.”

“Will this man Dutch know if Martina is still in the country?” she asked.

“He’ll know,” he said with certainty.

He was obviously irritated with her, so she didn’t press him with any more questions, contenting herself with staring at every building they passed.

Their hotel was disappointingly modern, but the old-world courtesy of the Italian desk clerk made up for it. He was attentive and outgoing, and Gabby liked him at once. J.D., however, seemed to have misgivings about him. He didn’t share them with her, but he stared aggressively at the poor little man.

He had booked them a suite, with two bedrooms. Gabby hadn’t expected anything else, but J.D.’s behavior was downright odd. He glared at the elegant sitting room, he glared at her, and he especially glared at the telephone. He went out on the balcony to pace and smoke, and Gabby felt as if she were going to fly apart, he made her so nervous. She went into her bedroom and unpacked, just to have something to do. The sudden sound of the phone ringing startled her, but she didn’t go back into the sitting room; she waited for J.D. to call her. Meanwhile, she changed into jeans and a silky green top, leaving her hair loose and her reading glasses in her purse. She did look like a tourist on holiday. That ought to perk up J.D.

He called to her about five minutes later, and she walked onto the balcony to find him staring blankly out at the city. He’d taken off his jacket and vest and opened the top buttons of his shirt. His thick, wavy hair was mussed, and one big, tanned hand was still buried in it. A smoking cigarette was in the other hand, which was leaning on the railing.

“Jacob?” she murmured.

He turned. His dark eyes focused on her slender figure, so intent that they missed the shocked pleasure in her own gaze as she took in this sudden and unexpected glimpse of his body. Where the shirt was loose, she could see the olive tan of his chest under curls of dark hair, and rippling muscles that made her hands itch. Her whole body reacted to his sensuality, going rigid with excitement.

“Dutch,” he said, nodding inside toward the phone to indicate who his caller had been. “Martina’s out of the country.”

She caught her breath. “Where?”

“Guatemala. On a finca—a farm—owned by a terrorist group.”

Her eyes searched his hard face. “Why would they take her there?”

“Terrorism is international, and this particular group probably have holdings all over the world. The rule of law in Guatemala is notoriously inefficient, which makes it a good place to hide a kidnap victim.” He laughed bitterly. His jaw tautened. “They’ll kill her if they don’t get the money. They may do it anyway.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve already done it,” he replied. “I’ve given Dutch a sum of money to buy some things I’ll need. I’ve also had him contact my old comrades. They’ll meet us at the Guatemalan finca of a friend of mine.”

She cocked her head at him, uncomprehending. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “As much as I’d like to jump on the next plane, we can’t do it that way. I need time to plan. And there’s no sense in signaling our every move. Dutch was going to speak to Roberto for me tonight. I’ll need to know the status of his fundraising before we leave.”

“Will we fly into Guatemala?” she asked, feeling jittery.

“To Mexico,” he said in answer. He smiled slowly. “As part of the holiday, of course,” he added. “That will be broadcast to the right quarters.”

“And now?” she asked. “What do I do?”

“We’ll go see some of those ruins, if you like,” he said. “It will help to pass the time.”

Her eyes searched his. “I know you’re worried, J.D. If you’d rather stay here…”

He moved closer to her, and the sudden proximity of his big body made her knees go weak. She lifted her face and found his dark eyes intent and unblinking.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said quietly. He reached out and traced a slow path down her cheek to her throat, where her pulse went suddenly wild. “What would you like to see first?”

She found that her voice wobbled alarmingly. “How about the Forum?”

His dark eyes searched hers for a long moment. His fingers went to her mouth, touching it lightly, as if the feel of it fascinated him. His thumb dragged slowly, sensuously, over it, smearing her lipstick, arousing every nerve ending she had. She gasped, and her lips parted helplessly.

“The Forum?” he murmured.

She hardly heard him. Her eyes were held by his. Her body was reacting to the closeness of his in a new and frightening way. She could smell the musky cologne he wore and it made her head spin.

Her hands went to his chest in a small gesture of protest, but the feel of all that bare skin and matted hair made her jerk back.

He glanced down at her recoiling fingers with an odd expression. “It’s only skin,” he said quietly. “Are you afraid to touch me?”

“I’ve never touched anybody that way,” she blurted out.

He tipped her face up to his and studied it with an odd smile. “Haven’t you? Why?”

What an interesting question, she thought. What a pity she didn’t have an answer.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t had the opportunity, Gabby,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Mama said that it wasn’t wise to do things like that to men,” she told him doggedly, her chin thrust out. “She said they were hard enough to manage even when it didn’t go beyond kissing.”

“So there,” he added for her with a faint smile. “She was right. Men get excited easily when they want a woman.”

She felt the blush go up into her hairline, setting fire to her face. And he laughed, the horrible man!

She pulled away from him with a hard glare. “That was unkind,” she grumbled.

“And you’re delightfully repressed,” he told her, but the look in his eyes was all tenderness. “You’d be pure sweet hell to initiate, Gabby.”

“I don’t want to be initiated,” she said primly. “I want to see the Forum.”

“All right, coward, hide your head in the sand,” he taunted, holding the door open for her.

“It’s safer that way, around you,” she mumbled.

He caught her arm as she started past him, and she felt the warmth of his body like a drug. “I’ll never hurt you,” he said unexpectedly, drawing her stunned gaze to his face. It was hard and solemn. Almost grim. “You trust me in every other way. I want you to trust me physically, as well.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because if I take you with me to Central America, I’ll want you with me all the time. Especially at night,” he added. “The men we’ll be working with aren’t particularly gentle. For all intents and purposes, you’ll be my possession.”

“To protect me from them?” she asked.

He nodded. “That means, in case you haven’t worked it out, that you’ll be sleeping in my bed.”

She tingled from head to toe at the thought of lying in J.D.’s arms. It was something she’d contemplated in her own mind for a long time, and hearing it from his lips almost made her gasp. As it was, her flush told him everything anyway.

“In my bed,” he repeated, searching her eyes. “In my arms. And I won’t touch you in any way that I shouldn’t. Even when we’re back home and Martina is safe, and you’re at your computer again, there won’t be anything you’d be ashamed to tell your mother. All right?”

She couldn’t find the words to express what she was feeling. J.D. felt protective of her. It was something she’d never expected. And uncharacteristically, she was disappointed. Did it mean that he didn’t want her?

“All right, Jacob,” she whispered softly.

His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed down at her. The hand holding her arm tightened until it hurt. “We’d better get out of here,” he said gruffly. He let her go, turning away as if it took some effort, and held open the door.

Rome was the most exciting place Gabby had ever been. All of it seemed to be interspersed with history and crumbling ruins and romance. J.D. told her that the Colosseum, the Forum, the Ninfeo di Nerone—Nero’s Sanctuary of the Nymphs—and the ruins of Nero’s House of Gold residence were all near the Caelian, Capitoline, and Palatine hills. They decided to concentrate on that area of the city.

There was so much to see that Gabby’s mind seemed to overload. They wandered around the ruins of the Forum first, and she just stared and stared like the eternal tourist.

“Just imagine,” she whispered, as if afraid the ghosts might hear and take offense, “all those centuries ago Romans walked here just as we’re walking today, with the same dreams and hopes and fears we feel. I wonder if they ever thought about how the world would be in the future?”

“I’m sure they did.” J.D. stuck his hands in his pockets, and the wind ran like loving fingers through his crisp, dark hair. With his head thrown back like that, his profile in relief, he could have been one of the early Romans himself.

“Have you ever read The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus?” she asked.

His head jerked around. “Yes. Have you?”

She grinned. “I was always a nut about Roman history. And Greek history. I loved Herodotus, even though he’s been bad-mouthed a lot for some of his revelations.”

“It is fascinating reading.” He smiled amusedly. “Well, well, a historian. And I never suspected. I thought your knowledge of other countries was limited to those sweet little romance novels you read.”

She glared at him. “I learn a lot about the world from those books,” she said, defending herself. “And about other things, too.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “What other things?”

She looked away. “Never mind.”

“We can go and see the catacombs later, if you like. They’re south of here.”

“Where the early Christians were buried?” She shuddered. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s kind of an invasion of privacy. I’m sure I wouldn’t want someone walking through my grave.”

“I suppose it depends on your point of view,” he conceded. “Well, we’ll drive up to the Colosseum then.”

“What was the other thing you mentioned, the Ninfeo di Nerone?”

He looked down at her with dark, indulgent eyes. “The Sanctuary of the Nymphs. You’d have fit right in, with your long, dark hair and mysterious eyes.”

“I wouldn’t have liked the debauchery,” she said with certainty, her green eyes flashing. “The morals in Rome in Nero’s time were decadent.”

“A lot of terrible things happened here in the early days. But if you think about it, honey, terrible things are still happening. Like Martina’s kidnapping.”

“The world hasn’t really changed very much, has it?” she asked sadly, watching the disturbance in his features at the thought of Martina and what she might be going through. She reached out and touched his arm gently. “They won’t hurt her, Jacob,” she said quietly. “Not until they get the money. Will they?”

“I don’t know.” He caught her arms and jerked her against his hard body, holding her there and staring intently into her eyes. “Frightened?” he asked on a husky note.

“No,” she lied.

His dark eyes held hers. “We’re supposed to be lovers on a holiday,” he reminded her. “Just in case anyone is watching us…”

His head started to bend, and she caught her breath. Her eyes dropped to his chiseled mouth and she suddenly became breathless.

“Haven’t you ever wondered?” he asked tautly, hesitating when he saw the shock on her young face.

Her eyes fluttered up to his fierce ones and back down again. “How it would be to…to kiss you?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Her lips parted on a rush of breath. She felt her breasts pressed softly against his shirtfront and was aware of the hardness of warm muscles against their hardening tips. She felt trembly all over just at the touch of his body.

His hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders and up her throat to cup her face and look at it with searching eyes.

“For the record,” he murmured quietly, “is it a distasteful thought?”

That did shock her. She couldn’t imagine any woman finding him distasteful.

“It’s not that at all,” she said. Her fingers flattened against his shirtfront, feeling the warm strength of his body. “I’m afraid that you’ll be disappointed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

She moved restlessly. “I haven’t kissed a lot of people. Well, you keep me too busy,” she added defensively when his eyes twinkled.

“So your education has been neglected?” He laughed softly. “I’ll teach you how to kiss, Gabby. It isn’t hard at all. Just close your eyes and I’ll do the rest.”

She did, and the first contact with that hard, persuasive mouth made her breath catch. He lifted his head, studying her.

“What was that wild little gasp about?” he asked gently.

Her wide eyes searched his. “You’re my boss….”

That seemed to anger him. “For today, I’m a man.” His thumbs under her chin coaxed her face up still farther. His head bent, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Relax, will you?” he whispered. “I can hear your bones straining.”

She laughed nervously. “I’m trying. You make me feel…stiff. I’m sorry, I’m kind of new at this.”

“Stiff how?” He pounced on that, his expression giving nothing away, his eyes narrow and unblinking.

Her lips parted. Her fingers contracted on his shirtfront, her nails biting unconsciously into his chest, and he stiffened. “Now you’re doing it, too,” she whispered.

His face relaxed, and there was a wild kind of relief in his dark eyes. He brushed his mouth over her forehead, her closed eyes. His hands slid behind her head and into the thick hair at her nape, cradling it.

“Gabby,” he murmured as he tasted the softness of her cheeks, her forehead, “that stiffness…have you felt it before with anyone?”

It was a casual-sounding question, nothing to alarm her. “No,” she murmured. She liked the soft, slow kisses he was pressing against her face.

“Would you like me to make it worse?”

She opened her dazed eyes to ask what he meant, and his open mouth crushed down on her lips. She gasped softly, letting her eyes close again. His mouth felt odd; it was warm and smoky tasting and very, very expert. Her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into wrinkles. She stood quite still, her body tense with hunger, feeling the slow persuasion of his mouth grow rougher.

He lifted his mouth away from hers, his face so close that she couldn’t see anything but his lips. “Who taught you that it was impolite to open your mouth when a man kissed it?” he whispered softly.

Her eyes went dazedly up to his dark ones. “Is it?” she whispered back, her voice sounding high-pitched and shaky.

“No,” he breathed. His thumb gently tugged on her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open. “I want to taste you, Gabby. I want to touch you…inside…”

She started to tremble at the sensuality of the words and of his touch. His mouth eased hers open and slowly increased its hungry pressure. She felt the tiny bristle of a half day’s growth of beard around his mouth and felt the hardness of his tongue slowly, delicately, penetrating her lips.

A tiny moan trembled in her throat.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, his own voice oddly strained. “It won’t hurt.”

She did moan then, as the implied intimacy and the penetration all washed over her at once, and she drowned in the sensation of being possessed by him. Her nails dug into his shoulders. She pressed her body into the hard curve of his and heard him groan.

“No,” he said suddenly, pushing her away. He turned, walked off and lit a cigarette.

Gabby clutched her purse to her and stood staring helplessly after him, trembling all over. She’d never dreamed that it would feel like that!

Around them, a group of tourists was just entering the end of the Forum, which they’d had momentarily to themselves. Gabby got a glimpse of colorful clothing and heard murmuring voices as J.D. smoked his cigarette for several long moments before he turned and rejoined her.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She was struggling for composure, and it was hard-won. “It’s all right,” she said. “I know you’re worried about Martina…”

“Was I looking for comfort, Gabby?” He laughed mirthlessly. His dark eyes swept up and down her slender body.

“I’d rather it was that,” she murmured, “than you needing a woman and having me get in the way.”

“It wasn’t that impersonal, I’m afraid,” he said, falling into step beside her. He towered over her. “Gabby, I’ll tell you something. I’ve done it in every conceivable way, with a hell of a lot of women. But up until now, I’ve never wanted a virgin.”

She stopped and looked up at him, puzzled.

He glanced down at her. “That’s right,” he said. “I want you.”

Her face flushed.

“You’ll have to remind me at odd intervals that you’re a virgin,” he continued, smiling faintly. “Because I’m not really out of the habit of taking what I want.”

He was angry and frustrated and probably trying to warn her off, she thought. But she wasn’t afraid of him. “If you seduce me,” she told him, “I’ll get pregnant and haunt you.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t believe his ears. And then he threw back his dark head and laughed like a boy, his white teeth flashing in his dark face.

“Then I’ll have to be sure I don’t seduce you, won’t I?” he teased.

She smiled up at him, feeling oddly secure. “Please.”

He drew in a long breath as they walked. “I thought this was all going to be straightforward and simple,” he murmured. “Maybe I’d better put you on a plane back to Chicago, little one.”

“Cold feet?” she muttered.

“Not me, lady. But you might wish you’d stayed home. I don’t know where my mind was when I dragged you over here.”

“You said you trusted me.”

“I do. Totally. That’s why I wanted you with me. The way things are turning out, I’m going to need you more than ever. When we get to my friend’s finca,” he said quietly, “someone has to stay behind to handle communications. We’ll have powerful radios and we’ll need updated information. The finca we’ll be staying at is only miles from the one where Martina is being held.”

She felt uneasy as she studied his hard face. “You’re not going in there alone?”

“No—with those old friends I was telling you about.”

“Couldn’t you stay behind at your friend’s finca?”

“Worried about me?” He laughed. “Gabby, I’ve dodged a lot of bullets in my time. I was in the Special Forces.”

“Yes, you told me,” she grumbled. “But that was a long time ago. You’re a lawyer now, you sit behind a desk…”

“Not all the time,” he said, correcting her. His eyes studied her quietly. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. About my private life.”

“You could get yourself killed.”

“A car could hit me while I’m standing here,” he countered.

She glared at him. “I’d be without work. One of the unemployed. Everything I’d do for the rest of my life would be horribly boring.”

“I’d miss you, too, I guess,” he agreed, laughing. “Don’t worry about me, Gabby. I can take it as it comes.”

“Do I even get to meet this man you call Dutch?”

He shook his head. “You’ll meet enough odd characters in Central America. And Dutch hates women.”

“You aren’t Mr. Playboy yourself,” she muttered.

“Aren’t you glad?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Would you like a man who had a different woman every night?”

The question shocked her. She struggled for an answer, but he’d already opened the door of the rental car and was helping her in.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. She went back to the hotel with him, her eyes full of ruins and Romans and maddening traffic. She had a bouquet of flowers that J.D. had bought from an old woman near the Fountain of Trevi. She couldn’t wait to get into her room and press one of the flowers, to keep forever. She buried her nose in them lovingly.

Across the room, J.D. was speaking fluent Italian with someone on the phone. He hung up and turned back to her.

“I have to go out for a little while,” he said. “Lock the door and let no one in, not even room service, until I get back. Okay?”

She studied him quietly. “You won’t go getting into trouble while I’m not around to rescue you, will you?” she said, teasing him.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Watch yourself.”

“You, too. Oh, Jacob!”

He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“They suit you.” He studied her face and smiled. “You look like one of them. Ciao, Gabby.”

And he was gone. She stared at the door for a long time before she went to put her flowers in some water.